NYC Log: July 10, 2026

Earlier in the day, at 4:00 p.m. EST, the last proposal was sent on a Friday. A rather eventful close to the week. Otherwise, it had been a low-energy yet high-stakes workweek, all culminating in new client signing, verbals from future customers, righting current customer relationships, and intent signals from marketing that more people are lining up to use our technology.

Meanwhile, my wife flew back to Seattle, my childhood friend came into the city from Connecticut, and the son of an old family friend who passed away five years ago—someone I’ve stayed in touch with since her passing and now a free-thinking record executive—is relocating to New York City. My parents are in town. Throw that into the mix.

I had my parents and the record executive meet me in Gramercy Park. There we smoked a couple of cigars, reconnected, then hopped on the 6 train to Midtown for dinner at Cote by Simon Kim. At the bar, my childhood friend “Juice” turned and saw us. He was having a gin martini in a feminine-ish glass (that’s a compliment to the glass), along with a burger, fries, and high-end pigs in a blanket. I introduced him to my record executive friend. Everyone settled in and enjoyed a few rounds. The restaurant—aka the hospitality—was solid. Without going into too much detail, I’d recommend it if you’re up that way. Yes, I had the $28 chicken nugget with caviar.

After about an hour, Juice and I said goodbye as my parents headed back downtown and the record executive headed to Brooklyn. Juice and I headed to SummerStage in Central Park. No idea who, where, or what I was walking into. Juice has a way of moving that’s part confidence, part changing his mind quickly. Nonetheless, I found myself at a Nora En Pure concert in the park—an EDM-ish concert. The weather was balmy.

We first met a couple of girls for no particular reason. Funny enough, they were considering moving to Seattle and mentioned they already knew several people who had made the move and were looking to join that community. They headed to the bar. We headed toward a restricted area of the concert that Juice somehow talked us into. Not bad—from GA to VIP Lite.

On the other side of the gate, a woman leaned over and said something to Juice before her partner kissed her—the international symbol for “she’s taken.” Which, of course, we are too.

Toward the back half of the concert, I texted my brother and sister-in-law, who would have loved it. Turns out Nora En Pure is heading to Seattle next, my brother texted back.

Juice told me the best part of EDM concerts is that you don’t have to watch the DJ because the music is more ambient than watching a band. So we talked, which actually made the concert cooler. Rather than worshipping the stage, we were essentially sitting in a jazz bar, I told myself.

Then I saw a blonde, tall, big-haired woman moving through the crowd. She looked directly at me and whispered something to the effect of, “I want to be where you are,” with a wink. I’m in disbelief. Is she talking to me? I told Juice. He didn’t believe me and told me to get him another seltzer. When I returned, she was in our area. She wanted to meet up later. We exchanged numbers, accidentally giving her the wrong ones.

The concert ended promptly at 10:00pm.

Juice and I left the park, realizing we never actually got each other’s numbers, laughing as we headed to The Peninsula. There, my back went out. Juice told me there is no such thing as back pain, that it’s really trauma and all I needed to do was breathe deeply. It helped—temporarily—just enough to get me across the street.

The rooftop at The Peninsula was okay. We left almost as quickly as we arrived. We hailed a cab and headed back to Cote, this time downstairs. We passed our bartender from earlier who greeted us again.

“You’re back.”

Downstairs was funny. It was only Juice and me and one small group of three. We sat down so I could relieve my back. We were still laughing about the concert.

Then a woman came down the stairs. Juice and I looked up and waved her over being funny to each other. She laughed (our waves to her probably looked like we had seen her before) and she joined us. She is Russian, a swimmer, and had just returned from Norway. She told us about her travels beyond Norway.

The group of three got louder before leaving behind a pair of sunglasses, which Juice immediately put on. He was instantly transformed into a 1990s Nicolas Cage from Face/Off.

It’s getting late. Juice wanted a final, final. I somehow got stuck with the tab, even though I wasn’t drinking.

The Russian told us about a rooftop halfway between where Juice was staying and where I live. We went.

It was past midnight.

The Refinery rooftop was at last call as “New York, New York” somehow gave way to “Teach Me How to Dougie,” then Alicia Keys’ Empire State of Mind.

Turns out the Russian was also a singer. As the song came on, she belted out, “In New York… concrete jungle where dreams are made of…”

I hail cab home.

Shower.

Bed.

‘Juice,’ with his new sunglasses.